


The Empty Nursery

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Series: New Targaryen Dynasty [9]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 07:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: The first pregnancy of the new Targaryen dynasty doesn't go as expected. Or the story of a miscarriage and a rosebush.





	The Empty Nursery

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is a little late-I've been extremely busy for the last couple of weeks but I should be back on my regular schedule now. 
> 
> So if you've read Eight Times and you've been looking at the (semi) schedule for publication, you'll notice that the miscarriage fic is up next. So Trigger Warning for a miscarriage and the grief caused by that. It isn't heavily graphic, but it is there. Otherwise, feel free not to read it if you feel that may be hard for you. I raised the rating on this one a little just to be safe even though there's really no smut. 
> 
> I did as much research as I could but some of the period typical attitudes may be inaccuarate; I never claim to be an expert, especially not on this subject. 
> 
> I don't own ASOIAF or GOT; all rights to GRR Martin and HBO, as always

8 Weeks

 

“For a boy, Aerion. For a girl, Vaelaena.”

"For a boy, Edric. For a girl, Lyarra." 

Daenerys fed another log to the fire, watching as the flames licked up the brittle wood. “We’ve been over this, Jon. The baby needs a Targaryen name-”

“We never said that.”

“Well, it’s true. This is a Targaryen Restoration-let Sansa name her children after the great Stark rulers.” 

He laughed, sitting down next to her on the bed and watching her finish up her letter, signing her name with a swift flourish. “Lyarra would be a wonderful name for our daughter.” Dany was convinced the baby would be a girl and he wasn’t one to argue with a mother’s intuition. 

“So would Vaelaena.”

"It’s a mouthful.”

“It gives her something to grow into.” She nestled into his side, propped against a sea of pillows-although the swell of her stomach hadn’t yet begun to stretch out her nightdress Jon insisted that she clear her schedule. She’d refused until he’d agreed to end early every night as well so they could spend the night together discussing the logistics of their child. Unfortunately, that usually meant disagreeing on everything-from the color of the nursery ceiling to the order of succession if the baby did indeed happen to be a girl. Most recently they’d started arguing over a baby name, even though there were still at least six months until Dany’s due date. 

“What does Tyrion think?”

“He’s being uncharacteristically silent. I don’t think he plans on getting involved; he’d have to pick favorites between us.” She cleared her throat and stamped the letter shut with the dragon sigil of House Targaryen. “How is the City Watch?”

“Orderly.” 

“And Flea Bottom?”

“There haven’t been any bread riots in a week and a half.” He pulled her closer to his side, planting a kiss on the side of her forehead. “Our kingdom is running just as it should.” 

She squirmed away from him and stood, pulling the curtains shut to keep out the chill in the late summer air. “Excellent.”

“And come springtime, the realm will celebrate the birth of a new prince or princess.” She moved closer to him obligingly and he ran a hand gently over the curve of her stomach, as though he could sense the child that moved within. 

“Our lineage will be secure,” she added, placing her hand over his. “And the dragons will have a new child to play with.” 

Even now, Dany was still nervous to refer to the baby more than she had to-as if she could somehow jinx her pregnancy with just a word. She hadn’t allowed herself to grow attached during the first month or so, before she’d known for sure whether or not the missed blood had been a one time event...but now the baby was growing steadily. Realistically she knew that giving birth to a child in King’s Landing, within the safety of her castle walls and Jon by her side, was very different than giving birth somewhere in the Dothraki Sea, with only a maegi to act as a midwife. And yet, she couldn’t quite get over the fact that she was going to have a living child-they were going to form a family, their comfortable two expanding to fit a third. 

But it was worth it again and again whenever she saw Jon’s face light up. He’d been happier these past few months than she’d ever seen him-constantly smiling, even looking like he was enjoying himself when they mingled with the nobility. He was never far from her side, even more so than usual, and she caught him looking at her stomach often-as if trying to see through to the baby within. She knew how special it had to be for him; he was going to be a father and his child wouldn’t be a bastard. He or she would be raised and loved with all the care afforded to a child born into wedlock-and Jon’s ultimate delight. 

He squeezed her hand, as if reading her thoughts. “It will be all right. We’ll do everything right.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But I believe it. And isn’t that just as important?”

She felt some of her fears dissipate, there in his arms. For a moment it felt true-as long as he believed in her their baby would be born healthy. And even though she knew it wasn’t, that childbirth was just as risky and unpredictable as it had ever been, his faith seemed to be enough. After all, he’d been the one to inspire his men when the night seemed darkest, the one who had stabbed her to save her even though he knew it could backfire horribly-it was easy to believe for a minute that love could make miracles. 

“You know this doesn’t mean you get to name her Lyarra.”

"I wouldn’t dream of it.” But he still sounded the slightest bit crestfallen. 

She sighed. “We could adopt a dog and name her Lyarra, if you’d like. That’s almost as good.” 

He snorted out a laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ll have our Targaryen children and our Stark pets.”

“That’s the spirit.” 

 

9 Weeks

“Are you in the shade?”

“Seven hells, Jon. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.” She took another step forward into the sun, feeling the wind off the Narrow Sea play with her hair. “How can we possibly live our entire lives within the confines of a building when the outside world is so lovely?” As if to punctuate her point she heard Viserion screech somewhere above them, as he and Rhaegal dove in and out of the water snatching up fish. 

“It’s not so lovely when it rains,” he replied, trying to keep his hair from blowing in his face. Dany had the right of it; she always braided her hair back, but he’d never been as vigilant with it as she was. 

“We should go to Dragonstone today,” she replied, watching the dragons swoop and dive. The rest of their day was clear and Tyrion was on a diplomatic visit to Lannisport so they had the Red Keep to themselves; something that rarely happened. Sometimes it felt to Jon that things kept moving faster and faster now that all of the celebrating was over, and it was anyone’s guess how he could keep it all straight. 

“I thought we still had to settle that border dispute with the Reach?”

“It can wait until tomorrow. It’s not an active conflict.” Her mind made up, she went to her wardrobe and pulled out a light blue cloak. “We need to take advantage of such a beautiful day.” 

Of course, he followed her. The palace did get a bit stuffy sometimes. 

~

The ride to Dragonstone was breezy and lovely. They chartered the royal skiff and stood on the top deck, watching the vibrant green of the hills come closer and closer as they approached. They still hadn’t decided what was to be done with the castle itself; for the moment they’d appointed a family of loyalists to be stewards, but they stopped by every now and then when they had time to make the crossing. Jon suspected that the drafty old castle made Dany feel more connected to her past but he never did-he always felt overwhelmed by the weight of the history the palace held and the ancestors he’d never known. 

The halls still felt unused and empty as they went to the throne room, passing the painted table. It had fallen into disuse and its surface was covered in dust, but a few wooden pieces still remained-remnants of the days when they had used it as a war room to control the movements of their armies and to track those of the Lannisters. The throne room echoed emptily, but they didn’t stop-they continued out the back doors, to where the sunlight beat down on them and the dragons circled far above. 

They sat in silence for a minute or two, watching King’s Landing glittering at them from across the water. The world was silent, apart from the lapping of the waves on the rocks far below, the shouts of fishermen at harbor, and the dragons hunting-although it didn’t take long before Viserion and Rhaegal landed nearby, both completely soaked, with water running in rivulets down their scales. 

“They came to see us,” Dany said, standing to rub the frills behind Viserion’s neck the way he liked it. 

Jon stayed still so Rhaegal could sniff him, feeling hot breath on the back of his neck. Sometimes the dragon reminded him so much of Ghost that the pain of remembering was almost physical. But he still loved the dragon; he’d never expected that he could ever stop being frightened of such a massive beast, but he knew by now that Rhaegal would never hurt him-only those who sought to hurt him or his wife. 

As the dragons loped off to find more fish, Dany winced. Instinctively, he moved closer to her. He didn’t know where this new protective instinct had come from but he couldn’t seem to turn it off; not only was he thinking about her safety but their child’s as well. He was forever telling her, even now, not to overdo it-although she usually seemed to resent his help. “What is it?”

“Nothing. A headache,” she replied. They’d been happening more and more lately and they’d both chalked it up to an unpleasant side effect of pregnancy. “We need to discuss the situation up North. The Night’s Watch doesn’t know if they’ll ever be able to build a wall as strong as the one before it.” 

“Can we give them more money?”

“It’s not money they’re after-it’s magic. Apparently the Wall was made with magic, reinforced by some of the last Greenseers. And as you know there aren’t any Greenseers left, unless someone is willing to sail past Skagos-”

"Which could be very dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“What about a warlock from Asshai?” He knew how much she didn’t want any magic involved at all-after all, magic had caused them both nothing but pain. But with the White Walkers came the knowledge that legends might not be entirely unreal-and anything could be in the Far North, waiting for them. They had to do whatever was necessary to protect their kingdom.

“We’re looking into it-but it may take too long. We’re vulnerable now.” 

“We’ve always been vulnerable-I can’t see how a few months will make much of a difference.” They lapsed into silence again. “I’ll send a raven to the wildling camps and see if any of them know anything about the Isle of Faces.” 

Dany sighed, massaging her temple. “I think she’ll have your hair.” 

Jon allowed himself to think of that-a dark haired, violet eyed Targaryen princess. “She’ll be fierce, like her mother.” 

And she’ll grow up in a world safer than we ever did, he thought. He gently touched the swell of her stomach and silently promised his unborn child, barely more than a thought now, that she would grow up loved by both parents and beloved by her kingdom-and he would do whatever it took to make sure she inherited a world better than the one he’d grown up in. 

 

Week 10

Arya arrived out of the blue one morning, wearing a doublet with the Baratheon stag on it. She wouldn’t say anything about Gendry, why she had come, or how long she’d be staying-but she got a room in the Red Keep just the same because she was family. 

“I brought this for the baby. I know it’s a little early yet, but I saw it in the window of a shop and I thought of you.” She handed Dany a soft cloth wolf, carefully stitched in grey fabric with buttons for eyes and a white stub of a tail. 

“Thank you. It’s lovely.” Dany hugged her. Arya looked taken aback for a minute but eventually she relaxed into the embrace with an almost sheepish smile. The happiness was infectious-not just inside the palace but around the kingdom as well. The Queen's stomach had only just begun to swell, but already it seemed to be all that anyone could think about. There were betting pools in King’s Landing on whether the child would be a boy or a girl and people liked to say that it had to be a stunning baby, considering who its parents were. For the royals that meant all kinds of contingencies-who would be regent for the baby if Dany or Jon were to die unexpectedly, what names were appropriate for a royal baby and what weren't, how the Faith would respond to the idea of declaring the new baby the heir to the throne regardless of its sex. 

Arya grimaced. “You’re almost glowing. That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

“It’s just happiness. You’ll understand if you’re ever a mother someday.”

Arya gave her a look as if to say unequivocally that would never happen. “You and Sansa are both insufferable.” 

“Do you want to see the nursery?” She headed upstairs, and Arya followed her somewhat reluctantly. 

The royal nursery wasn’t finished yet, but already it looked spectacular. The walls had been painted red, accented with black, with dragons chasing each other around the perimeter of the ceiling. She and Jon had commissioned the best artisans in all Seven Kingdoms and it showed: she wished she’d thought to give as much thought and care to redesigning her own bedchamber. “You don’t think there are too many dragons?” 

Arya shrugged. “It’s a matter of opinion. I don’t think the baby is going to care.” 

She suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over her and she sat down hard on the floor, closing her eyes to center herself.  
When she looked up again, Arya was looking down at her concernedly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She stood even though she still felt slightly nauseous. If she made Arya nervous then she was sure Jon was going to hear about it-and the last thing she needed was for Jon to get worried over nothing. 

Arya nodded, although she didn’t quite look convinced. 

~

The nausea got worse over the next few days and Dany found her appetite went away as well. She skipped meals occasionally-and lied to Jon when he asked if she’d been eating less. She took a day to sleep in, got a potion from Sam, and was back at her afternoon audience. 

She tried to act normal, especially when she was around Jon. Extra stress wasn’t good for the baby-and there was absolutely nothing wrong with her, just like she’d told Arya. Sickness was a part of pregnancy. That was all it was. As long as she believed that, she could push down her rising fear that something wasn’t right. 

Until the cramps started late one night. 

They woke her up and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out and waking Jon. She lay back and tried to relax, tried to go back to sleep-it was just pain from the pregnancy, nothing serious, nothing she should be worried about-but within five minutes she found herself in the washroom, on her knees as the cramps wracked her body. She still found herself repeating it to herself, again and again, even as she knew that it wasn’t right, not at all…

...and then she opened her eyes and saw the blood. 

For a moment she couldn’t move or speak. Her brain felt as if it was moving through a fog and nothing made sense. She could only feel shellshocked and frightened beyond belief, because she’d only felt this way once before and-

She stood, ignoring the blood, knowing only that she had to find Sam, and possibly Gilly if she could be woken. They would know what to do. They would fix this. 

She’d only taken a couple of steps when there was the hiss of a match and the candle next to Jon’s bed flared into life. He was already sitting up, his hair tousled from sleep, his eyes wide with fear. “Dany? What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t look at him. She had to pretend it was happening to someone else, somewhere else, when she said “I need to see Sam. I’m bleeding.” 

~

Somehow they got to Sam’s small cluster of rooms without attracting attention or waking up the maids. They both worked with a businesslike efficiency-she hadn’t gotten two steps before Jon picked her up and for once she didn’t protest. He could only tell she was frightened by the way her heart sprang, jackrabbit like, against his chest and the way she’d blinked away tears.

Sam was bleary from sleep for only a moment until he explained the situation to him-and then he whisked Dany into another room, closing the door softly behind him. Jon slumped to the floor, missing the chair completely-and if he’d been tired before, he wasn’t anymore. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep again. 

He felt numb and tired, and unbearably sad. He wanted to curse the gods and curse himself, curse his hope-curse everything that had led them to this point-because he knew with a cold and crushing certainty that the baby was dead. 

He didn’t move, staring into space for what seemed like forever. It felt unreal-if he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t think, the nightmare would stay a bad dream. He would wake up next to Dany, healthy as ever-and he’d kiss her when they went down to break their fast and argue over whether they would call their little princess Vaelaena or Lyarra. It seemed such an unimportant argument now-he would have let her name their child ‘Potato’ if she wanted to if only it would have made a difference.

The door opened and Sam came out again. He sat down next to Jon, but he wouldn’t look at him. 

“How is she?” Jon asked quietly, already knowing the answer. 

Sam paused for a long moment before he answered him. “She’s all right. I gave her a potion for the blood and she’s with Gilly now. She’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.” 

Normal-what did normal even mean anymore? “And the baby?”

“...I’m sorry, Jon. I did all I could, but...These things happen sometimes, you know. I had an aunt once who lost a baby-”

He stood and walked away, not sure where he was going-out the door, down the stairwell, into the Holdfast, and up to the balcony outside his bedroom. He had to pass the nursery to get there and it took all the self control he had not to go inside and scratch the paint from the walls until his fingernails were red and bloodied. 

He looked out at the city, at all of the people inside of it sleeping soundly, with no idea that his world had yet again turned on its head. 

He didn’t know how long it was until Arya came and hugged him tightly. She was crying, and he didn’t think to ask how she knew or remark how out of character it was for her to show any emotion. It kept him from being alone, and that was good enough for him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry Jon.” 

He didn’t say anything-how could he, when it so obviously wasn’t all right? So he hugged her tighter and imagined just for a moment that by wishing hard enough he could make everything right again. 

 

Dany wouldn’t talk to him for five days. In fact, she wouldn’t talk to anyone. She closed herself in her room and wouldn’t open the door; she barely ate, and at night she turned away and didn’t acknowledge him when he came inside and lay next to her. She barely stirred when he got up in the morning either. On the third day Tyrion sat on the other side of her closed bedroom door for most of the day and talked to her in an endless stream of consciousness about anything and everything, but even that wasn’t enough to rouse her. Not that Jon blamed her; but he knew that it reconfirmed her fears that she wasn’t meant to bear another living child, that the gods were somehow punishing them. And he knew there was nothing he could say to dissuade her fears. 

He’d been spending more time with Arya, playing endless games of cyvasse or just sitting on the beach watching ships come into harbor. They didn’t talk much and when they did their conversation was intentionally light and essentially meaningless.  
“She’ll come around,” Arya told him on the fourth day. “She’s grieving, that’s all.” 

“I can’t help her.”

“You’re not supposed to help her. Grief is something you figure out on your own time, even when you’re someone like her.” 

He picked up a handful of sand and rubbed it between his fingers, watching the granules pool at his feet. “A week ago we were going to have a baby, Arya.” That was the hardest thing of all for him to understand-how had everything changed so quickly?  
How had only a handful of days changed things forever? 

What had they done wrong? What hadn’t been enough? Why had this happened to them, of all people? 

“I know,” Arya replied quietly. But she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t try to say that things were okay, or that they could try again, or try to do anything at all to diminish the scope of their tragedy. And for the moment, all Jon could do was feel the pain it left behind when it ripped a hole in their lives. 

 

Daenerys felt Jon come in before she heard him flop down on the mattress next to her, the bedsprings creaking under his weight. 

He trailed a hand down her back tentatively, as if asking her permission. For a second she thought about pulling away, the way she had every other time he’d tried. How could she chase away the pain by allowing his touch to warm her, to comfort her aches and pains from losing another child? 

But she didn’t move, and he moved a little closer. She could feel him next to her, and even though she wasn’t facing him she imagined him looking up at the dark ceiling listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks and her soft breathing.  
His presence gave her a light in the darkness of her grief and shame, as if he didn’t hold her accountable for what had happened. Not the way she did. 

 

“Your people miss you. We’ve had to dismiss petitioners. You know I can’t see nearly as many as you can.”

“You could if you tried.” Leave it to Jon to think of the good of the kingdom at a time like this. 

She could practically see the sunlight slanting through his dark hair, pooling on the bedcovers. She wanted to yell at him to close the windows and get out, in that order. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t worth comforting her over-she deserved the guilt. 

“It’s not your fault. You know that, don’t you?” He abandoned the plate of breakfast on her nightstand and climbed in bed beside her, pulling her close, his stubble from the night before tickling the back of her neck. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.” 

She wanted to ask him how he could possibly know that, but she didn’t. Truth be told, she didn’t feel like doing much of anything-and condemning herself seemed to take too much effort. So she didn’t say anything; she just inhaled the clean smell of him, like the wind off the harbor and sharp, tangy pine smoke. “We made a nursery, Jon.” She couldn’t think about that room, lying empty and quiet, with the dragons on the walls watching soundlessly over it. 

“We’ll try again,” he replied. “It’s not over yet.” 

“And what if it doesn’t work?” There was a cold fear in her chest and it felt hard to breathe; what if the maegi had been right and she would never bear a living child? How could she stand it, knowing that Jon might have to...procreate with someone else because the Targaryen line had to continue somehow? “All of my children keep dying.” A sob leaked out and she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, smearing her tears across her face. Jon held her closer and she tried to ignore the fact that she wanted his touch just as much if not more than she ever did, but every time his skin accidentally brushed hers she remembered what they had made together and how savagely it had been torn away. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.” 

“I love you,” he said after a moment of silence during which he contemplated what to say. “I love you regardless of whether or not you can give us a large family. I know that may not seem like much now, but I believe in you. I believed in you during the Battle of the Dawn, when everything was lost...and I believe in you now. I believe that we met for a reason and saving the world was only a small part of that. Any children we may have are only a part of that. There will be other opportunities. We’ll have other chances. And none of this changes the way that I love you.” 

She shut her eyes and listened to his even breathing, his certainty that everything would turn out. How could he be so confident, she wondered? How could he have faith in her that she didn’t have in herself? 

The uncertainty was disconcerting. For as long as she could remember, she’d always been able to believe in herself. When the rest of the world had looked down upon her she’d stood tall, never once doubting her own intelligence, commitment, or drive to make a better world. But childbirth wasn’t so simple. And sometimes it felt like a cosmic joke-the Mother of Dragons, the Mother of Monsters, destined never to bear a human child. Destined to die childless or watch the man she loved have children with another woman. She would love those children, of course, but it would continually be a blow-a happiness that she could never have. 

His love wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough; love didn’t shape worlds, love hadn’t won the Battle of the Dawn, love wouldn’t prevent the death of their dynasty. Realistically she knew this and still she dosed off listening to his heartbeat in her ear, steady and calming, clinging to it like a lifeline-that maybe, somehow, things could be okay, the same way he’d promised her they would be when Drogon had died. He'd been right then-she hoped he could still be right now. 

“I love you too.” 

~  
Jon was gone when she woke up the next morning, but there was a commotion coming from outside the palace. She pulled on a light dressing robe and went to see what had happened-only to find her husband on his knees in the dirt, wrestling what looked like a fairly small rosebush into a hole in the dirt just below their bedroom window.

She didn’t want to laugh but the sight was so absurd that it was hard not to. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing?”

He blinked up at her in the sunlight, sweat trickling down the side of his neck. She was suddenly very tempted to tell him to take his shirt off. “You’re up.” He stood, patted the dirt back into place, and came to stand next to her. They both looked down at the rosebush; it was barely bigger than Dany’s palm, but it had already begun to blossom into delicate white blooms. “A merchant from Highgarden was selling them and I figured we could plant one...for Vaelaena. So we don’t forget her, and she grows with us-even though she’s not here now." 

She didn’t think she’d ever wanted to kiss him more-but the urge to cry was so overwhelming that it was all she could do not to sink down to the dirt next to him. “I love it. I think she’d love it too.” 

He slid his hand into hers without being asked, dirt still sparkling in the grooves in his skin, and she rested her head on his shoulder as the sun rose behind them. Together they watched the tiny white blossoms grow towards the sunlight. The plant seemed so small, so easily overwhelmed, but it looked strong and hardy-growing in spite of the odds, just like they were. It was a simple sight, but it gave her courage. 

 

Four Months Later

Sansa had just given birth to a pair of healthy twins, with dark hair and curious blue eyes. She named them Rickon and Willard and promised to come to King’s Landing as soon as she was able so the royals could see them. 

Even though Dany had been expecting it and even though she knew that somewhere deep inside of her she was happy for Sansa, it still felt like it was tearing at her heart. They should have been making the final preparations for her own baby right now. The nursery was supposed to be in use instead of quietly gathering dust. 

She’d gotten fairly adept at pretending it didn’t bother her-yes, sometimes she had bouts of sadness and there were some days when she’d wake up in the early mornings and she’d forget what had happened in the few moments before her conscious self rudely awakened her, but for the most part she’d managed to move on. 

But she hadn’t yet had sex with Jon again. Every time she thought about it, every time she wanted it, every time they talked about it...she kept making excuses. The time wasn’t right. And she knew it was just because she was frightened that she might lose another one. She didn’t think she could bear another rosebush. 

Jon had left their bedroom window open to encourage a breeze off of the water-which seemed to be all but nonexistent. Music from King’s Landing drifted up towards them, mingling with the waves off of the ocean. He sprawled on the bed next to her, writing a letter, his quill moving over the paper with quick, even strokes. He got a wrinkle between his eyebrows when he was concentrating hard; it always made her want to kiss him, even more than she usually did. 

“Who’re you writing to?” 

“Gendry-he just announced his engagement to Margaery. They’re going to have a wedding in Storm’s End.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Did you tell him that we’d love to attend?”

“I just did.” He signed his name with a flourish (Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms; she still got a thrill just seeing those words) and set it next to the bed for safekeeping. “We’ll send it out tomorrow.” 

“And then soon we’ll have a new heir to the Stormlands.”

She saw the pain flash through his eyes. “Dany, we’re not on a schedule-”

“But it feels like we are. It feels like the realm is just waiting for a prince or a princess and they’re confused why it’s taking this long.” She knew how it usually went-marriage and then a child the next year, because producing an heir was of paramount importance. 

“We’ll have our heir when we’re ready.” She didn’t understand how he could be so calm about it when it seemed to be a barb permanently lodged in her chest. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Well, I do.” She glanced outside, just so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “What if I lose another child? My mother’s pregnancies were all very difficult-my father wouldn’t let her hold my older brother Viserys when he was born for fear she would harm him-”

“I would never do that to you-"

The words came out before she could stop them. “And what if I can’t have any children? The throne needs an heir.”

“Dany-”

“Well? It’s a fair enough question.” The worry had turned into something like fear and it was all she could do not to get up and start pacing the room like a caged beast. “You would need a surrogate. The line has to go on-”

“Dany.” His voice was sharp enough that it finally stopped her. “Dany, listen to me: that will not happen. I promise you.” 

“But what if it does?”

He was quiet for a minute and she felt herself move away from him imperceptibly. “I don’t want to lie with another woman, even for the family line. If it’s important to you then...we would talk about it." He didn't say that it wouldn't change things between them, because it undoubtedly would. "But you will always, always, be the love of my life."

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry again and knowing full well that she might. “I want to try again.”

She could tell he hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “Now?”

“Right now.” It wasn't a spur of the moment decision; everything in her body cried out for it, for him, even though she still wondered if the gods weren't laughing at their pain. 

He straightened almost imperceptibly. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I’m positive. Aren’t you?” 

He took her hand but didn’t squeeze it; he examined it instead, turning it over in his palm as if he wanted to memorize the feel of it. “Yes, I am. But if you want to wait...if you want to go slow..." 

Gods, he was so gentle with her. Sometimes it infuriated her-at least until he unleashed the wolf inside. She lay down and looked up at him, feeling her breath catch in her chest. She should have been used to it at this point-how it felt to lie with him, how it felt to feel him inside of her, how he was equal parts passionate and tender. Every time shouldn’t feel like the first time, tantalizing and amazing. "Maybe just a little." She was struck with the sudden urge to make it feel real, to feel every sensation, to remember all over again why she wanted a child not just for the kingdom but for them as well. 

The pulse of grief still beat somewhere deep inside her, but for the moment her pain felt relieved. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference, but she wanted this-and him-badly enough that she was willing to set it aside and try again. 

“We won’t be the last of the dragons anymore,” she said quietly, as she unbraided her hair and led it hang unbridled down her back. 

She couldn’t see Jon but she could almost sense him smiling-carefully, tentatively. Afraid, just like her, to get his hopes up-and yet determined to move past it. “We never really were-we just didn’t know it yet.”


End file.
